


Charles Miner Is A Fuckup

by SoftIceCream



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Protective Dwight Schrute, Protective Pam Beesly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 06:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17360522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftIceCream/pseuds/SoftIceCream
Summary: Charles hits Jim in the head with the soccer ball instead of Phyllis. He rattles Jim's brain around, and has to deal with the consequences of his poor attempts at pranking.Season 5x22 AU





	Charles Miner Is A Fuckup

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with a new crack ship. I figured if I could ship Jim with Josh Porter and Danny Cordray, then why not Charles Miner?  
> He's getting shipped with everyone, that's my gift to this (dead) fandom. This work isn't beta read so there are bound to be plenty of errors. Let me know if you see any.

 

Charles would be lying if he said he liked Jim Halpert. He found the man annoying, lazy, incompetent, stupid, and try hard. He wasn’t sure how he maintained employment at Dunder Mifflin. If he had his way then Jim would be out on the streets. But for some reason David Wallace liked him, and no matter how much he complained Jim remained employed at the company.

 

Jim told him he liked soccer, but Charles could tell it was a blatant lie. Still, he could relieve some of his pent up frustration by beating Jim in a game of pick up. It’d be his version of a prank! It’d be hilarious, the look on Jim’s face when he realized he was a failure. Ha ha ha, now that would be funny.

 

What Charles did not expect was for Jim to take the soccer ball to the head. He kind of hoped he’d dodge it so it could hit someone’s car, and then he’d blame it on Jim. Instead Jim crumpled to the ground, and fell face first into the cement. Everyone stood around, calling his name, but he didn’t get back up. Charles ran over and rolled Jim onto his side. He was unconscious, his face covered in blood from a large wound on top of his head, where his skull collided with the concrete. He kicked it hard, but not _that_ hard. He wanted to knock sense into Halpert, not knock him out!

 

“Call an ambulance,” he yelled, and everyone started to panic. Pam ran over and pushed him away. When he tried to help lift up Jim she pushed him away again. _I deserve that_ thought Charles. He may have just killed Jim Halpert.

 

The ambulance came and the paramedics loaded Jim into the back. Pam tried to go with him, but Charles stopped her. “He’s my best friend,” she screamed and Charles shrugged. “I’ll go in case the doctors ask any questions. Go back to your fake paper company.” Pam slunk away, but Charles didn’t trust her to not follow the ambulance. He texted Andy and told him to make sure she didn’t leave the lot, he didn’t care how.

 

Jim looked deathly pale. The paramedics were trying their best to stop the bleeding, but it kept coming. Charles heard rumblings of _trauma_ and _swelling_ but he didn’t know what it meant. God, he’d be so screwed if Halpert died because he hit him too hard with a soccer ball. Charles fished Jim’s phone and wallet out of the maybe deceased man’s pocket. He should call and alert Jim’s family in case his health went south, but stalled. He’d see what would happen at the hospital. Maybe Halpert would get back up and shake the injury off.

 

* * *

 

Charles ended up spending the night in the hospital, Jim undergoing an eleven hour surgery to decrease the swelling of his brain. A few doctors were worried about whether he’d make it, and Charles felt his stomach drop. He really might have just killed Jim Halpert.

 

* * *

 

The next afternoon Jim was out of surgery and in the ICU. The doctors called it a miracle: Jim was already up and talking, like he hadn’t suffered from a severe brain injury the afternoon before. It was incredible really, because so many of the surgeons assumed he’d die. Charles stood a foot away from Jim’s bed, watching as a nurse checked him over. They spoke in hushed tones that Charles couldn’t understand. The nurse moved a finger in front of his eyes, seeing if they’d follow it. One eye perfectly followed the nurse’s finger, but the other one trailed behind. It seemed the ball to the head affected Jim’s reflexes, or at least his vision. But still, outside of a bum eye and a large scar across the side of his head, Jim was okay!

 

Charles approached the bed after the nurse took her leave. Jim was playing with his nasal cannula, gently squeezing the sides of it, watching the airflow start and stop again. Charles wanted to slap his hands away. If he died because he accidentally cut off his oxygen supply then Charles would resurrect him just to kill him again. “Jim,” Charles called out, annoyed. He was happy that Jim wasn’t dead, but all of this was the little shit’s fault to begin with! Hopefully he’d be discharged in a couple of days, and both could forget this ever happened.

 

“Jim,” Jim repeated back expectantly. He looked up at Charles with his big, bright eyes, and had they always been that big? Charles never noticed. Now wasn’t the time to. “How are you, Jim,” Charles asked.

 

“Am I Jim? You’re not Jim,” asked Jim confused, and Charles gave him a strange look. This was not the time for one of Jim’s pranks! He held his tongue from yelling at Jim, and replied, “No, _you’re_ Jim. Jim Halpert.”

 

“Oh! Nurse Alexis said I was Patient 05674. So that’s not my name?” Right, Charles hadn’t given the hospital any of Jim’s information, hence the lack of a name. But still, this game wasn’t funny. Charles gritted his teeth. That was the thing about Jim, he never knew when to be appropriate. A hospital bed in the ICU after almost dying was not the time for pranks! If Jim was dead set on embarrassing him then he could embarrass Jim back too! The nurse came back into the room, and put a medicinal eye patch on Jim’s left eye, the one that was unfocused. “I’m Jim! Jim Halpert,” he shouted at the nurse. She smiled at him and patted his cheek. “Good job sweetie! I knew you’d figure it out!” She turned to Charles and raised a brow at him. “Who might you be,” she asked.

 

Charles took this as the opportunity to get back at Jim. He took Jim’s hand in his and swung it lightly. “I’m Jim’s boyfriend, Charles Miner,” he said gravely. Jim beamed up at him, which wasn’t the reaction he wanted. He expected Jim to snatch his hand away, and drop his forgetful ruse. “Boyfriend,” Jim repeated slowly, as if he were savoring the word. “Boyfriend Charles, are you my family?” Charles fought the urge to yank his hand away. If Jim wanted to pull the long con then so could he. “Yep,” he replied back.

 

The nurse’s eyes lit up. “Jim, sweetie, do you mind if I borrow your boyfriend for a second? I want to talk to him for a bit!”

 

“About my head and eye?”

 

“Exactly!” Jim nodded and Charles followed the nurse out into the hallway.  Charles hoped whatever she’d say would be along the lines of “Jim’s fine and is feeling playful at the moment. We’ll discharge him at the end of the week!”

 

Instead he got: “Oh, thank God you came! We were worried someone attacked him and you dropped him off in front of the hospital, we had no way of identifying him. Thank you for being patient with us. Once we’re done talking can you fill out his paperwork? That way we can get him in the system and not have to list him as a John Doe.

 

“The surgery was a success in terms of saving his life. The bleeding has stopped and the swelling is under control. He’s making a speedy recovery too! Most severe head trauma patients would be in a coma right now, but I guess Jim wanted to see you immediately! He sure is a fighter! A few surgeons weren’t even sure if he’d make it, his vitals dipped to dangerous levels during the surgery last night to the point that they had to stop for a few hours to try to maintain him. It’s honestly a mystery that he survived, and even more mysterious that he’s awake.

 

“The bad thing is he’s suffered some brain damage. We are not sure of the severity yet, but he’s showing signs of having amnesia. He couldn’t remember his name, the his birthdate, or what city we are in. We weren’t sure ourselves, because he has no insurance on file. We cannot tell if he has any development issues, but those will become apparent over the next few days. His speech seems to be fine, although his sentence structure is a bit off. I’d try quizzing him on basic math and stuff and work your way up, that way you could see for yourself if Jim is at the same level he was before the accident.

 

“As for his eye, it’s gone lazy from the blunt impact to his head. Keeping it covered in gauge or an eyepatch for the next two to three months will help the eye gain its strength back, so I wouldn’t worry too much. Jim will need to be on an oxygen tank for the next year or so because he loss airflow to his brain for two minutes last night, and is now having trouble breathing by himself. Hopefully, again hopefully, he’ll be able to stop using the oxygen tank in the future, but for right now we aren’t sure. Now, sometimes trauma to the head can cause patients to lose motor skills. We will start Jim in physical therapy as soon as he’s recovered enough for it, but we predict that he will probably need to walk with a cane for the time being.”

 

 _Oh fuck! I’ve ruined this guy’s life!_ thought Charles. He also didn’t know how to mention that he wasn’t really Jim’s boyfriend, that he was just joking. But now the joke seemed cruel, just like the soccer ball to the head. Jim had amnesia to the point that he couldn’t remember himself, and the first memory in his now blank head was “Charles Miner is my boyfriend”. Fuck. Charles thought Jim was a fuck up, but the biggest fuck up was himself.

 

Charles used Jim’s wallet to fill in his insurance information, and to contact his family. He didn’t bother contacting Pam, he didn’t want to deal with the red haired woman. He entered the ICU where Jim was still messing with his nasal cannula. This time Charles slapped his hands away. “If you keep fucking with that tube, then you’ll die.”

 

“Nurse Alexis said I almost died last night,” Jim returned in a matter of fact manner.

 

“Yeah, but you pulled through. Good job.” Charles turned to leave, but Jim called after him. “Where are you going?”

 

“To work. You’re mom, dad, and sister will be here soon.”

 

“What are their names,” Jim asked. Charles watched Jim snake his hand up the cannula again, he was totally going to fuck with it. He rolled his eyes and checked Jim’s wallet, looking for a clue. He couldn’t find one. “Mom is your mom, Dad is your dad, and Sister is your sister. Have a good day.”

 

“Wait! I’m bored, boyfriend. Please don’t leave me.” Jim looked at him with a puppy eye, and Charles sighed.

 

“Oh my god, fine! I’ll be back.” Charles drove to the nearest bookstore and picked up a couple of books. He got a math prep book that ranged from preschool level math to college level calculus. He got a few books, some adult coloring books, some simple picture books, some young adult novels, and _Animal Farm._ He threw the last one in as a joke, he doubt that Jim could understand it, regardless of a brain injury. He called Dwight and told him that he wouldn’t be coming in, and that the office needed to manage itself.

 

“Is Jim alright? We haven’t heard from him,” asked Dwight, concern evident in his voice. Charles could hear Pam yelling in the background. Why was she even there? The last time he checked she worked in the closet downstairs.

 

“He’s fine, he’s in ICU after almost dying, but I think he’ll be alright.” He hung up before Dwight could stutter out a reply.

 

* * *

 

He watched as Jim filled out the math book. He got most of the questions correct, missing a few college level questions about integration and sequences. Charles had to admit he was impressed, he came from an accounting background and still sucked at calculus. He reported his findings to one of the nurses, who in turned told the doctors that Jim didn’t seem to be suffering any developmental trauma.

 

Jim moved onto one of the coloring books. It was all about animals, and Charles could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to identify each. He poorly colored each in strange colors, like pigs in black and cows in pink. Once he was satisfied with his knowledge of different mammals Jim moved on to _Animal Farm._ “Jim, wouldn’t you prefer reading one of the simpler books first,” Charles asked, holding up a copy of _Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing._ Jim shook his head. “This one is shorter, so I’ll read it first. Thank you for your worry, boyfriend.” Charles just nodded his head and went back to his phone.

 

* * *

 

Charles went home and showered and napped in preparation of meeting Jim’s family and telling them why they shouldn’t sue him. Before he left Jim finished his copy of _Animal Farm_. Charles doubted he understood the book, he doubted Jim understood animals at this point.

 

Jim’s family was here, all fluttering around their injured kin. Charles thought about turning around and leaving, but Jim spotted him before he could run. He waved his arm strangely, like he had never done it before, and his family turned.

 

“Mom! Dad! Sister! This is my boyfriend, Charles Miner!”

 

“Boyfriend? Jim, honey. We didn’t know you were dating,” said Jim’s mother.

 

“Since when do you like men,” asked the teenage sister.

 

Jim thrusted his hand outwards, and Charles obliged him by taking it. Was this his life now?

 

“We’ve kept it a secret. The relationship is still _very_ new,” lied Charles. Maybe he could lay the groundwork for a “breakup” with Jim, and he’d be done with this whole boyfriend business by tonight. No one would fault a fling for dipping at the first sign of trouble, right?

 

“So is this my whole family? Mom, dad, sister, boyfriend,” asked Jim, looking at all the people crowding around his bed.

 

“Your brothers, Pete and Tom, are on their way too. You have your best friend too sweetie, Pam, and your roommate Mark. I’m not sure why they aren’t here.” His parents looked at Charles expectantly and he had to hold back a yell. He was being tasked with contacting his roommate and Pam. God, his life sucked right now.

 

Calling Mark was easy, Jim didn’t have a passcode on his phone. The man sounded faint when he told him that Jim was in the hospital, but a friend being on death’s doorstep tended to do that. Next, he contacted David Wallace. He told him Jim cracked his head open on the concrete during a game of pick up soccer, and that he was staying with him for the time being. He assumed Wallace would be in sometime this week, if only to see how much of a payout Jim would be getting from Dunder Mifflin for getting hurt on company property.

 

Finally, he called Pam. She picked up on first ring. “Jim, are you alright? Dwight said you were dead!”

 

“Fortunately Halpert isn’t dead, although he probably will wish he were once he gets his insurance bill. Or maybe not, I doubt he has a concept of money right now.”

 

“Charles, you’re such a bastard. Where are you?” Charles gave her the name of the hospital and stood outside, waiting for her. He needed to inform her of his...predicament so she could play along. She arrived fifteen minutes later, out of breath. Dwight was in the driver’s seat of the car, and he pulled off to find parking.

 

“Pam, before we go in, I must tell you something. Jim has amnesia, and thinks I’m his boyfriend. I’d suggest playing along until I can figure out a way out of this.” Pam looked at him as if he were nuts.

 

“Why would he think that, and why would I go along with it? Charles, you almost killed him yesterday because you’re petty!”

 

“I was the first person he saw, so he just assumed,” Charles lied. Jim was no mental state to offer a rebuttal, and the nurse from earlier should have gone home by now. “You should do it because he has no memories, and he’d be devastated to learn one of his family wasn’t family. And I didn’t almost kill him, he hit his head on the pavement. _That_ almost killed him.”

 

Pam gritted her teeth and nodded. Charles ushered Pam and Dwight to the ICU. Jim could only have four visitors at a time, and his brothers had arrived. Instead, Charles stood in the hallway with Jim’s father, Pam, and Dwight. He gave Jim’s father a rundown of what the nurse said: he had amnesia, a bum eye, would need help breathing, and would probably need help walking. Jim’s father starting crying, as did Pam. Dwight looked close to it. Jim’s roommate soon came, and he gave him the same spiel; Mark reacted the same way as everyone else.

 

Eventually Jim’s siblings and mother came out of ICU, allowing Mark, Pam, and Dwight to enter. Charles planned on leaving, but Jim’s mother stopped him. “Charles, thank you for looking after Jim today. My poor baby! I don’t know what to do. At least he has a nice boyfriend like you.” She pushed him towards ICU and Charles had no choice but to go back in. Jesus. His family left, with the promise of being back tomorrow morning. At least Charles wouldn’t have to spend another day in this godforsaken hospital.

 

“Who are you,” Jim asked the newcomers. Dwight scoffed, mostly out of denial. “I am Dwight K. Schrute, the local supreme commander of Scranton. You are my lackey, sidekick, and bellboy.” Pam slapped him in his side.

 

“Oh, nice! Dwight K. Schrute, local supreme commander of Scranton, are you my family?” Dwight deflated, but nodded. Charles wasn’t lying, and this wasn’t some convoluted prank by Jim. “Yeah...I am.”

 

“I’m Pam, remember? I’m your family too. We work together, we have for the past five years.” Pam hugged Jim, which he reciprocated.

 

“Uh, I’m your friend, Mark. We went to college together! Yeah, we’re family.”

 

Jim nodded as everyone introduced themselves. He then turned and pointed to Charles. “And he’s my boyfriend, Charles!” Both Dwight and Mark looked between them, wide eyed. “Jim,” started Dwight, “Charles isn’t your boyfriend, he’s your boss. You’re not even gay.” Pam elbowed him.

 

“Yes he is! He said so himself! He even bought me books!” Jim held up his pile of books to show off to the group. Everyone gave him tight, fake smiles. They couldn’t believe he was convinced Charles Miner was his boyfriend. They sat around, trying to explain little details of Jim’s life to him.

 

Eventually, Jim became tired. Everyone moved to leave, telling Jim they’d be back tomorrow, but Jim grabbed on to Charles’ hand. “Boyfriend,” he asked sleepily, “What’s the alternative to animalism?”

 

“What,” asked Dwight, confused.

 

“What’s the opposite of animalism? Does it work in practice? Does animalism work?”

 

“The opposite is capitalism,” said Charles amused. He had to admit, even with a brain injury Jim seemed to be of reasonable intelligence. “Animalism doesn’t work, and as you’ll see once you receive your hospital bills, neither does capitalism.”

 

* * *

 

The next day Charles headed into work. Dwight wasn’t there, and Pam wasn’t at the Michael Scott Paper Company. That wasn’t his problem. He’d slowly stop going to see Jim, until he realized they weren’t “boyfriends” anymore. It’d be mean, but it would work.

 

Except he got a phone call from a crying Pam saying, “he has anterograde amnesia now!”

 

 _“_ What does that mean,” asked Charles.

 

“He doesn’t remember yesterday, either! I went to visit him and he had no idea who me, Dwight, or his family were!” _Jackpot!_ thought Charles. God always worked in mysterious ways. Charles kept his voice as calm and neutral as possible. “So, he must have forgotten about me then. It works out well for everyone.”

 

“No! For some fucking reason _you’re_ the only person he remembers! He keeps asking for “Charles Miner, my boyfriend”! He didn’t even remember his own name this morning!”

 

 _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_ thought Charles. God also liked dealing out punishment, and this was his. He grabbed his keys and told Andy he was in charge. He avoided the nervous glances from the office, who hadn’t heard an update about Jim.

 

* * *

 

A pretty neurologist explained that Jim’s anterograde amnesia was only temporary, and would probably last for another week or so. The real problem was his retrograde amnesia, and that everyone should focus on trying to help him regain old memories instead of building new ones. “It’s going to be hard on everyone involved,” she explained, “talking to someone who doesn’t remember you, and won’t remember you. But think about how he may feel. He doesn’t know anything, and he wakes up like that everyday.” Charles was more focused on her though, and whether it’d be appropriate for him to shoot his shot. Pam glared at him for ogling the doctor, apparently disagreeing that he should talk to her.

 

Charles went to ICU and sat next to Jim, the inadvertent cockblocker. Jim grabbed his hand and smiled at him. Charles could admit that Jim had a charming, cute smile, but not as cute as Jim’s neurologist.

 

“The doctor told me my name is Jim, but this card says James,” stated Jim, holding up his ID. “Why? What does it mean?”

 

“James is your given name, and Jim is your nickname,” replied Charles dourly. He didn’t want to spend everyday explaining things to Jim, only for him to forget them again. He grabbed the laptop that Matt or something brought in and opened a Google Doc. He handed Jim his laptop.

 

“Is Charles your given name or nickname? What’s the difference?”

 

“A given name is the name given to a person at birth while a nickname is a name you give someone later. Most people have a nickname,” Charles said before adding, “but I don’t.”

 

“Now, Jim, if you ever need to know anything that doesn’t pertain to you then look on the internet, and type the question and answer in the Google Doc. So then, when you turn on your computer, all of your answers will be there! And write down anything your family tells you, about you, okay?” Jim nodded. Charles watched Jim try to navigate the computer. After a couple of minutes Jim turned his laptop to face Charles.

 

 _Charles nickname_ read the Google search. The top reply was _The Looney Prince_. “Can I call you this,” Jim asked innocently.

 

“No!”

 

Jim typed it into his Google Doc anyways.

 

* * *

 

It became a routine. Charles would visit Jim before work, and would be greeted chipperly by the man who could remember nothing (except for him). He’d explain how to use and access the internet and be on his way. He’d then comeback after work and have to explain communism and naming and whatever sport was on tv to Jim. He’d watch as his family and friends coddled him, trying their hardest not to cry over him.

 

Everyday he’d wake up and remember nothing, expect that “Charles Miner is my boyfriend.”

 

Everyday Charles cursed his luck.

 

* * *

 

Jim was moved from ICU to a normal hospital room ten days later. He was no longer at risk of dying in his sleep, nor did the doctors think the swelling in his head would flare up. Most importantly, Jim could retain information after sleeping or napping. Charles learned this during one of his pre-work visits.

 

“Charles, are there books like _Animal Farm,_ but about capitalism? It doesn’t have to have animals though, they’re a bit weird.”

 

“Did you wake up early to read this?” Normally Jim needed to look at the book of animals first, before spending three hours reading _Animal Farm_. Charles only knew this because it was the only time he could get Jim to shut the fuck up.

 

“No, I read it yesterday, remember? Before Pam came with Dwight?”

 

Charles ran and got a nurse.

 

After being checked over by a nurse, Charles contacted Jim’s family, who were no doubt on their way regardless. He felt a bit proud of Jim for being able to retain information, and patted him on the unmangled side of his head. He guessed he could look for a book similar to what Jim asked for, just as a gift for getting somewhat better.

 

* * *

 

Jim started physical therapy a week later. Jim would need a cane, but it would be temporary like the oxygen tank and the lazy eye. So it seemed like he’d heal fine, so long as he could get his memories back. Charles still visited him, more out of a sense of obligation than an actual want. After all, he kind of was the reason Jim was nearing a month stay in the hospital to begin with. However, he didn’t visit as often, cutting his visits down from twice a day daily to once, and shortening the amount of time he was actually there. He had a life he wanted to get back to, albeit a boring, uneventful one, but his life nonetheless. If Jim noticed a decrease in his visits then he didn’t say anything, his time was more preoccupied with physical therapy, reading, and his myriad of visitors. By this point the rest of the office figured out what Jim was out with, and routinely visited him.

 

When Charles walked into Jim’s hospital room he found Michael Scott and Jim sticking his eye patches all over their bodies. Charles hated when Michael visited, because Jim would devolve into the same childish antics. He didn’t want the man thinking that was appropriate behavior. Charles bent down to hug Jim, something he had been doing for the past week. Jim nuzzled him back. Charles didn’t _want_ to, but Jim was needy and always demanded them. And since he was Jim’s boyfriend he had to. Yikes.

 

“These are not stickers,” scolded Charles, pulling some off of Jim’s arm and throwing them away.

 

“They are,” interrupted Michael.

 

“No they aren’t! They’re for his eye Michael, not your nipples! Scram!”

 

“Your boyfriend is mean, Jim. I’ll see you later,” Michael said sourly, shuffling out of the room. Charles scoffed, Michael believed that he and Jim were secretly dating before the accident, everyone not in the know did. Only Pam and Dwight knew otherwise, and both cared too much about Jim to break his heart by telling him the truth. While burdensome in the beginning Charles quickly realized it’d help him stay out of legal trouble.

 

Charles helped Jim change his eyepatch. He had ordered Jim a box of rainbow eyepatches two weeks ago to placate him, so now the man changed it everyday to a different color. “Guess what, Charlie,” Jim said. Charles hated being called Charlie, but he let it slide for Halpert, at least, for the moment.

 

“What?”

 

“I get to leave soon, are you excited?” Charles was excited, that meant he could officially pawn Jim off on his parents. An organic “breakup” was on the horizon, and hopefully it didn’t come with lawsuits and assault charges.

 

“Wow, that’s great Jim! I’m excited for you, are you excited?” Jim shook his head sadly. “I like staying here. I’ve never been outside, or anywhere really. At least not that I can remember. What if it’s scary? I look funny, maybe everyone will hate me.”

 

In Charles’ opinion Jim didn’t look bad at all. The long scar on Jim’s head was probably his biggest cause of concern, but his growing hair hid it for the most part. Besides, he could cover it with hats. The eyepatch thing wasn’t forever, and Jim would be back to showing off his full, goofy face in no time. The oxygen tank could be swapped out with a portable concentrator, and he wouldn’t always need the cane either. He had nothing to worry about.

 

“You don’t look funny, you’re actually very handsome. No one will bother you. You’ll have a lot of fun on the outside, sitting cooped up in a hospital for a month isn’t living. Besides, restarting your daily routine will help you regain some of your memories. Plus, you’ll have your family. Your parents, Larissa, Pete, Tom, Pam, Milt, and Dwight.”

 

“And Michael.”

 

“No, not Michael. Stay away from him.”

 

“And I’ll have you too, right,” Jim asked hopefully. Charles sighed.

 

“Yeah, you’ll have me.”

 

* * *

 

Through shitty circumstances Charles ended up taking Jim home with him. His parents sold Jim’s childhood home a while ago, and lived in a two bedroom apartment with Larissa. They just didn’t have the room to take him. Both Tom and Pete lived out of town, and Jim’s former roommate Mack was ill equipped to take care of him. Pam, Dwight, and Michael all offered to take him, but Charles couldn’t allow it. Pam was broke, still toiling away at The Michael Scott Paper Company. Dwight lived on a dirty farm, and Charles was sure that would adversely affect Jim’s health. And Michael was persona non grata, even if Charles hated Jim he wouldn’t release him into Michael’s custody. Charles was the VP of Northeast Sales, he could afford a dependent. However, this threw a wrench in his plans of an organic breakup. He’d look like a jackass if he dumped his sick “boyfriend” now.

 

He helped settle Jim into his apartment over the first couple of days. It was big, but only had one bedroom; Charles never had a need for more. For the time being Jim could have his room, while he slept on the couch. He hadn’t really decorated the place, since he hadn’t been in Scranton that long before he boinked Jim with that ball. Jim noticed this and worked to set up all of the decorations Charles never put up. He even used Charles’ credit card to order more. Charles wasn’t a fan of Jim spending his money, but he didn’t really have much of a choice. But he had to admit, it felt a lot more homey afterwards.

 

He wasn’t a good cook, which meant that they ate takeout for the first couple of days. Jim wanted to try cooking, but Charles feared he’d burn himself, or that his oxygen tank would blow up or something, and forbade him from doing so. They’d both die however, if Charles didn’t learn how to make unprocessed meals, so he put his best foot forward in making sure Jim had healthy, cooked food to eat. That left Jim with the housework. He took absolute care into keeping their living space clean, cleaner than Charles ever had it.

 

Jim read books while he was away at work. He liked le Carré and Clancy, and watched all of the media adaptations of their works. He liked Nora Roberts, and powered through a good chunk of her bibliography. He also really liked George Orwell, although that came as no surprise to Charles. When not reading Jim knitted. He watched countless YouTube tutorials on the subject before adding a fuckton of yarn to Charles’ Amazon cart and buying it. He consistently went to physical therapy, trying to strengthen his legs. His sister came over everyday after school, and would either take Jim to the park a block away where they would feed birds, or to her lacrosse practices where he’d sit and watch. While Charles was pleased that Jim was discovering hobbies, he was sure Jim was growing discontent with staying home all day.

 

“Will I ever get to go back to work,” Jim asked over their takeout Chipotle. Jim’s routine hadn’t changed much over the month he had been out, and Charles could tell it was driving him wild. _Probably not_ thought Charles. He didn’t have the heart to tell Jim that he was more likely to be terminated rather than welcomed back. Instead he hugged him.

 

He and Jim cuddled a lot. Jim expected it, still thinking they were in a relationship. Charles had begrudgingly obliged the first time, but now didn’t mind it so much. Jim was soft and made for pleasant company, and Charles got to fight off his loneliness. It was a win-win for the both of them. All and all, Jim was settling in well, and Charles didn’t mind his presence.

 

* * *

 

A month later Jim was ready to take his eyepatch off. Charles, Jim, Michael, Pam, Dwight, Larissa, and Milo sat at a Chili’s table with a bunch of fatten foods in front of them. They were going to unveil Jim’s eye, right here. Charles thought it was gross, pulling what was essentially a bandage off in front of a ton of food, but everyone wanted to participate. The group banged on the table while Jim removed the eyepatch, slowly revealing a perfectly corrected eye. They cheered while Jim wrapped his eyepatch in a napkin to be thrown out later.

 

Charles noticed that Jim had nice eyes. It was easier to tell when both eyes were uncovered, and Jim wasn’t trying to hide the formerly lazy one from him. For some reason Charles felt himself staring into Jim’s eyes a lot. Jim’s glaze always met his, a smile always toying at his lips. God, this was corny. He hoped no one else noticed his staring.

 

They did.

 

Pam and Dwight confronted him outside of the Chili’s while Michael, Larissa, and Maxx walked Jim around the parking lot for exercise. Pam hit him on his side while Dwight watched him disapprovingly. “Stop fucking with him,” Pam whispered.

 

“How am I fucking with him?”

 

“The staring! Don’t give him longing looks, it’ll make him think you like him!”

 

“Come on, how could I not stare? He was extremely happy, and we were sitting in close quarters. It’d be hard not to look at him.”

 

“You need to find a way to end things gently, Charles. I can’t continue to watch you lead Jim on.”

 

Charles and Jim left the moment Jim got back from his little walk. He should find a way to end things, but he didn’t want to hurt Jim. It was his fault Jim was in this situation to begin with. The easiest thing at point would be Jim getting tired of him. But the entire car ride home he could feel Jim’s eyes on him. When he looked over at him, eyebrow raised with an unspoken question, Jim would turn away, face slightly red. Yeah, he could see what Pam was talking about, and yeah, he couldn’t see Jim growing tired of him. He couldn’t imagine the opposite either.

 

* * *

 

For all of the prattle about Charles ruining Jim’s life, no one had ever asked if Jim ruined his. The answer would be yes, and Charles would give the following incident as proof:

 

The two were watching a movie after dinner, when Jim turned to him and asked, “Charlie, why don’t we ever kiss?” Charles looked at him, Jim seemed embarrassed by the question. Truthfully, he was hoping Jim wouldn’t notice that they never took it farther than hugging, but on further reflection he realized how insulting that was to Jim’s intelligence. He was amnesiac, not dumb.

 

“Do you not like me? Because I’d understand if you didn’t, I’m not the same person I used to be. Do you want to break up?” Jim was giving him an out. Charles could end all of this foolishness right now. Jim could move in with Pam, who was back at Dunder Mifflin and had a steady income, and he could move on to Jim’s hot neurologist. It’d be a clean break. He should take the opportunity.

 

He didn’t. Instead he leaned over and kissed Jim on the mouth. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, but he was kind of glad he did. Jim had soft lips to match his soft body, and he made for a really good kissing partner. It must have been muscle memory. Jim even knew where to put his hands, one on top of Charles’ head, and the other on this shoulder blades. Eventually Charles broke the kiss, mostly because he was worried that he was crushing Jim’s cannula between their bodies.

 

“No, I’m sorry for not kissing you sooner. I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Jim smiled at him and yeah, Charles knew he was ruined. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to get rid of Halpert anymore.

 

* * *

 

Being addicted to kissing was dumb, and Charles was way too old for that. But Charles kissed Jim multiple times a day, like a horn dog teenager. They’d kiss in the morning, before Charles went to work. They’d kiss when he got back home, him giving Jim a chaste one while dropping their carryout pizza on the counter. They’d heavily makeout after dinner, on the couch while Netflix played in the background. Sometimes Charles would rut against Jim, wanting to hear the delicious sounds the man would make. He’d then jack off in the bathroom like a horn dog teenager too, not wanting to force Jim into having sex if he didn’t want to.

 

But one night, after their nightly makeout session Jim said to him, “The bed is very big, you shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch in your own house.” So Charles moved back into his room, with Jim. And that was the first night they ever slept with each other in the literal sense. Their first time figuratively came a week later, during their makeout session when Charles ground down hard onto Jim’s crotch and he begged Charles to fuck him. He wasn’t sure where Jim learned that, but he wasn’t complaining. He obliged Jim’s every command thus far in their fake relationship, why not one more?

 

It was all Charles could think about at work the next day, how cute Jim looked underneath him, the noises he made as Charles fucked into him, how peaceful he looked asleep. He left work immediately at five, eager to do it all again.

 

* * *

 

They celebrated Jim’s birthday privately, Charles wanting to do something nice for him before his family and friends tried occupying all of his time. They went to an upscale restaurant in Philly, someplace he only knew about through word of mouth. Jim fiddled with his hair and cannula the whole car ride, feeling self conscious. Charles held his hand, he personally thought Jim looked handsome. But then again, he was starting to realize that Jim was handsome all the time.

 

They got to the restaurant, and toasted Jim’s twenty-eighth birthday with red wine. “What’s the average life expectancy? Am I closer to death’s doors now,” Jim joked.

 

“No closer than you were in the spring,” and they both laughed. Jim read the menu carefully, as if he were trying to glean information about something other than food from it. “This place had a different name last year,” Jim slowly said. “I can’t remember what it was, but it was different. I think they were a steakhouse and not French.”

 

“Are you sure,” asked Charles, shocked.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” They waived a waiter over and asked if this restaurant had changed owners.

 

“Yeah, this used to a Ruth Chris’ until January. They moved down the street, and now it’s just Bistro 47.” The waiter walked away and Jim looked at Charles with big eyes.

 

“I...remembered something,” he asked, confused. Charles nodded, pride welling in his heart. “Yeah, you did.”

 

They spent the rest of the night informing Jim’s family and friends of the mundane memory he regained.

 

* * *

 

Dwight threw Jim a birthday party on his farm. Everyone from the office came, eager to see Jim and the progress he’d made. Even David Wallace came down to say hi. Jim mostly stayed inside, avoiding the barn and fields of animals.

 

“Jim, do you want to see any of my livestock? We have pigs, cattle, and horses,” asked Dwight. Jim shook his head, but Dwight still took his hand in his and pulled him outside. Charles sighed and followed.

 

Dwight brought him to his pigpen, where three obese pigs resided. None of them paid them any attention, at least not until Dwight shook a bag of feed in their faces. The chunky pigs all hustled over. Jim hid behind Dwight, terrified of them. Jim had once told everyone during a group dinner that he feared pigs. He knew it was irrational, but after reading _Animal Farm_ so many times he couldn’t help thinking they were planning an attack on humanity. Later that night Charles confided that he was scared of rabbits, because growing up he found Peter Rabbit to be terrifying. They both laughed at each other’s unfounded fears. But now, Jim would have to face his.

 

“Try feeding them, Jim. I promise they won’t bite you.” Jim stuck his hand in the feed and tentatively held it out. One pig shoved the others out of the way, but was otherwise gentle with Jim. He looked perturbed, but allowed the pigs to continue licking his hand. Dwight shuffled over to Charles, who continued to watch Jim interact with the pigs.

 

“Why are you doing this, Dwight,” Charles asked.

 

“You can’t allow Jim to have such childish fears. I’m beating it out of him.”

 

“That’s dumb, Dwight. There’s nothing wrong with having inane fears, it won’t hurt him.”

 

“That’s where you’re wrong. There could be a stampede of pigs in downtown Scranton, and Jim could be trapped in it. It’s best that he gets over his fears if he wants to survive that incident.”

 

“That’s not going to happen, Dwight. It’s an irrational fear, it won’t ever happen, unless you purposely expose him to it,” Charles stated pointedly, still watching Jim. He was now petting the pigs, and no longer looked put off by them.

 

“When are you planning on ending things with him? If he can get over his fear of my animals then he’s more than welcome to live here.”

 

“And what, be exposed to your unhygienic farm? No, never. I don’t plan on ending things.” Dwight turned to fully face Charles, surprise etched on his face. Charles just shrugged. “I like him, and I like having him around. There’s no point in ending things.” Charles had admitted it to himself, that he liked Jim, but it felt eerie telling someone else. Dwight didn’t like the response however, and grabbed him by his collar.

 

“Stop messing with him, haven’t you done enough Charles,” Dwight whispered heatedly. “You’ve ruined his life, and are now are trying to take advantage of a situation you’ve created. You’re despicable.”

 

“You know, it’s highly inappropriate to manhandle your boss,” Charles whispered. Dwight dropped him.

 

“I’d quit just to kick your ass, if you hurt him.” Charles just laughed, there was really nothing he could do. He watched Jim again, who was oblivious to the argument and still tending to the pigs.

 

“I won’t, I genuinely like him,” Charles promised. He really wouldn’t, he didn’t want to mess a good thing up. Dwight turned and walked away, heading towards Jim.

 

“These pigs don’t have names, do you want to name them,” Dwight asked Jim.

 

“Why are they so big without names?” Dwight shrugged.

 

Jim didn’t even have to think. “Is Old Major, Snowball, and Napoleon alright,” he asked, pointing to the different pigs. Dwight slung his arm around around Jim’s and led him away from the pigpen.

 

“Anything you want is fine, kid.”

 

Charles realized this was Dwight’s birthday gift to Jim, albeit a fucked up one. He smiled despite himself, it was nice that Jim had people who cared about him.

 

* * *

 

Jim cooked him dinner. He had been saving recipes on Pinterest for months, mostly ideas for what Charles could make, but Charles suspected he was just waiting for the chance to get at the stove. He did it while Charles was away at work, knowing he would be scolded if he did it while Charles was at home.

 

Charles came home to something savory wafering from the kitchen. He was clued in immediately, because takeout _never_ smelled that good, nor has anything Charles made. He found Jim standing over the stove, a spoon in hand as he stirred some kind of soup. He wasn’t wearing his concentrator, and looked a bit pale. Charles turned off the stove and pulled him away from it.

 

“Jim, what the fuck are you doing,” Charles yelled, grabbing Jim’s concentrator off on the counter. He stuck the nasal cannula into Jim’s nose, and then around his ears, before passive-aggressively tightening it around his chin.

 

“I’m cooking, God! Why won’t you ever let me do anything useful,” Jim replied back heatedly. He slapped Charles’ hand away from his face and took a step back. “Stop coddling me, I’m not a child!”

 

“I’m not coddling you! I don’t want you get hurt! You shouldn’t be without your air supply.”

 

“I can go thirty minutes without it before feeling ill, and I can tell time. I’m not stupid, I can care for myself without dropping dead.”

 

“That doesn’t mean you should have to! I can cook for us, you don’t have to do anything!”

 

“I don’t do anything! You do everything! You work, you pay the bills, you go shopping, you drive, you supervise me everywhere I go, I have no fucking control over my own life!”

 

“You clean,” Charles said sardonically, which wasn’t the correct answer. Jim advanced on Charles, at least to the best of his ability. Charles moved out of the way and end up bumping into the pot of soup Jim made. The pot splattered on the ground and the pair looked at it.

 

“I hate you,” said Jim without any heat in his words. “Clean this shit up.” He turned away and stormed into their shared bedroom, and locked the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Later that night Charles heard the sound of Jim’s footsteps and cane approaching him. He sat down at the end of the couch, near his feet. Charles sat up to face him.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Jim, “I understand what you’re trying to do, and while I may not agree with you trying to hide me from everything, that gives me no reason to yell at you.”

 

“I’m sorry too, Jim. I’m not trying to coddle you, I just don’t want to hurt you again.”

 

“Stop. I don’t blame you for that, it was an accident.” They’d discussed Charles hitting Jim with the ball that caused him to hit his head, but it was always framed as an accident. Jim would probably leave if him he knew he initially did it with malicious intent.

 

“I love you, Charlie,” said Jim.

 

“I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you think would happen if I got all of my memories back,” asked Jim. They were both waiting for Jim’s neurologist to come back with the results of Jim’s CT scan. It was a question they both thought about a lot, but never vocalized. They both had their reservations. Charles could tell Jim was afraid of being a different person if he acquired his memories, the disconnect of what he made of himself over the past eight months, and who he was before. Charles was worried that Jim would find out about his ruse. He loved Jim, a lot, but everything would fall apart if Jim knew their relationship was built on a lie.

 

“I’m not sure,” Charles said honestly. Jim grabbed his hand and smiled at him.

 

“Well, whatever happens, we’ll always have each other.”

 

* * *

 

It happened on February 14th. Charles came through the door, drained from another day of dealing with Michael’s bullshit. He often toyed with the idea of heading back to corporate and taking Jim with him, but none of his family or friends would be happy with that. He bought Jim chocolate and flowers, and he had a reservation at nice restaurant in downtown Scranton. Today would be a good day.

 

He found Jim sitting at the kitchen counter, a newspaper in one hand, and a steaming cup of black coffee in the other. Charles raised his eyebrows, Jim didn’t like coffee at all, preferring water to anything caffeinated.

 

“Is that for me,” Charles asked, going in for the cup. Jim moved it out of reach.

 

“No, it’s not,” he replied before taking a sip from the cup. He flipped the page of the paper roughly.

 

“Ahh. Did you...remember something, maybe about liking coffee?” Charles vaguely remembered Jim drinking a ton of coffee before the accident, but Charles generally didn’t focus on or care about Jim before then. The taste just didn’t carry over for some reason.

 

“Yes,” was the annoyed reply.

 

“What else did you remember?” Jim had been remembering small things for a while now, like family vacations, classes in school, and random sales he made.

 

“I remember you pitching that ball at my head.”

 

“Right.”

 

“I also remember how much you hated me, and how much I hated you. What I don’t remember is anything “secret relationships” or and bullshit like that. I wonder where that came from?” Charles could feel himself sweating now, Jim was on to him.

 

“I don't think you have the full story, you probably—.”

 

“I remember _everything_ , Charles, including you and the little stunt you pulled.” Jim’s face bore the most hateful smile Charles had ever seen. “You aren’t shit, you know that? You’re a fraud and a fucking liar and—-.”

 

Charles ran out of the house.

 

* * *

 

Charles drove around for hours before settling at some park outside of Scranton. He bet Jim was telling everyone how Charles lied to him for nine months, he bet Pam and Dwight were on their way to kick his ass. He was sure the police were searching for him, absolutely nothing he’d done was ethical, and fraud of this nature was probably illegal. But he didn’t care about any of that, he only cared that Jim hated him now.

 

He had a ton of texts on his phone, which was expected. What he didn’t expect was for them to be all from Jim.

 

 **Jim:** _Excuse you? We were in the middle of a fucking discussion._

 

 **Jim:** _It’s nice of you to LEAVE knowing I can’t easily follow you. You’re a selfish asshole to the bitter end, huh?_

 

 **Jim:** _Where are you Charles??_

 

 **Jim:** _Fine, ignore me, you’re a fucking coward!_

 

 **Jim:** _You don’t want to deal with the shit you’ve caused, how typical. That’s so like you._

 

 **Jim:** _You’re a big bitch, Charles._

 

**Jim: 🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻**

 

 **Jim:** _If you don’t come back now, then don’t bother coming back EVER._

 

Jim also called him a dozen or so times, but he didn’t realize with his phone on silent. He was also getting notifications about suspicious activity on one of his credit cards, no doubt Jim. If he wanted to clean him out then that was fine, he deserved it. He checked the notifications, there were seven different transactions, all under fifteen dollars. What was Jim up to?

 

At that moment a car pulled up next to his park bench. The back door flew open and Jim hobbled out. Charles realized all those charges were probably Uber transactions; Jim had been looking for him. He walked as fast as he could over to Charles and punched him in the face.

 

“You’re a bitch, Charles! How dare you run away from me!” Charles held his aching jaw, Jim has gotten him good.

 

“How’d you find me?” Jim pulled out his phone and threw it at him. It was on the find my friends feature, something Charles had turned on in case he ever got separated from Jim. That was a mistake, now.

 

“How fucking dare you, you evil piece of shit? Did you have fun toying with me for a year? Huh? Was it fun? You almost kill me and then led me on when that didn’t work out! You fucking fucktard!”

 

“I wasn’t toying with you, Jim.” This time Jim slapped him. God, his jaw was on fire now.

 

“You did! Why would you do that, say you were my boyfriend knowing you weren’t? Do you really hate me that much,” asked Jim.

 

“It was a prank,” Charles said honestly. Jim bent over and kneeled in the snow. Charles jumped up to help him back up, but Jim just slapped his hand away. He stood up and sat on the bench next to Charles. His breathing was laborer, so Charles moved to turn his concentrator up. Jim glared at him.

 

“So it was a joke,” Jim said tiredly. Charles shook his head.

 

“It wasn’t a joke since the moment it came out of my mouth. I thought _you_ were being the dick, taking advantage of the fact you were in the hospital to get back at me for hitting you in the head. It wasn’t until after the nurse told me you had actual amnesia did I realize my mistake. I wanted to take it back then and there but you were so happy at the prospect of having someone there for you that I couldn’t. You had anterograde amnesia along with the retrograde, you’d wake up everyday unable to remember the previous day. You knew nothing expect for me. It would have been cruel to just leave you there. Once the anterograde stuff went away there was never any real opportunity to break up.”

 

“You didn’t need to bring me home with you,” Jim said sourly.

 

“No one else could. Besides, I put you there, it was the least I could do. But after that, I fell in love with you. I did, I think it happened the first week you lived with me. You used to always fret over me, like I was the one with the head injury, or the oxygen tank, or the bad eye, or the cane. You needed to worry about yourself but instead you always worried about me. You cared about me, and I just came to care about you. I didn’t do anything to you out of malicious intent, I truly love you.”

 

“You still deceived me, Charles.”

 

“I did, I’d understand if you wanted to take this to the police. We can.” Charles pulled his phone back out and moved to dial the cops, he deserved this. Jim slapped the phone out of his hand and into the snow.

 

“Fuck, I didn’t say I wanted to do that! Don’t make decisions for me!” The two sat in silence, watching the the dusk become dark.

 

“I hate you, Charlie,” Jim said to the air.

 

“You should.”

 

“But I love you too.” Charles turned to him. Jim continued, “I hate you for lying to me about how we got together. That was so shitty, and I bet you were hoping I’d never get my memories back so I wouldn’t call you on it. But I can’t discount all the love you gave me over the past year, and how much I love you. I’m just so confused right now. I really, really, really love you, and I shouldn’t, I should hate you! But I do and I can’t stop.”

 

“How long have you known? I mean, when did your memories come back? ”

 

“This morning, at breakfast. It was such an abrupt thing too, I was just overcome with this intense feeling, like I acquired all of the knowledge in the world. It wasn’t until after I ruminated on it for a bit that I realized that these were my memories, and I had them _all_ back.”

 

“What do you want to do now? Do you want to leave? You can take the apartment and I’ll stay at a motel.”

 

“Oh my god, didn’t I just say stop making decisions for me? You don’t listen well. No, I want you to come home with me for now, and we’ll work something out. I’m upset right now, but...but I think I can get over it? I think we can move past this.” Jim turned and hugged Charles. Charles hugged him back.

 

“I hate you, Charlie. But I love you so much.”

 

“I love you too, Jim.”

  
  
  
FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> I said at one point I'd stop putting Jim through shit as a plot device, at least in my new stories, but I lied? But it's okay because this has a kind of happy ending, right?
> 
> I should note that nothing in this fic is medically accurate. I don't know science, we are not friends. I'm positive amnesia doesn't work at all the way I described it. I'm not positive that someone would need physical therapy for their legs after a head injury, nor am I positive that a head injury can knock someone's eye out of alignment. I do want to apology about the lazy eye though. There are two different conditions informally called lazy eye, and only one of them can be corrected with eye patches. The type that Jim had was NOT the one that could be corrected through eye patches lmao. However, I wrote the entire story before I actually researched if that were feasible, so ehhhh. Bare with me, like I said, nothing here was medically true.


End file.
